The Z Legacy
by Team Dragon Star
Summary: AU. Sequel to The Z Identity. No one is who they seem. Allies are only temporary and enemies last only as long as they survive. Revenge has taken him on this path and he isn't sure he'll be coming out alive.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: TDS does not own Dragonball Z**

**This story is brought to you by SilviaS7 and ShadowMajin**

When the lights in the room turned up, an elderly woman looked straight ahead and smiled. "Welcome back to _All Sides_. I'm Sena Kawashi," she said clearly, her short dark hair swaying slightly with her movements. She turned to her left and the camera moved with her, still focused on her face but expanding to include some of the set behind her. "Now entering the sixth week of proceedings, the trial of former NAIE director Jackie Roshi and several recently resigned senators appears to be drawing toward a conclusion as the defense is expected to finish presenting its evidence in the next three days. The scandal broke four months ago, and our own National Affairs correspondent Jimmy Firecracker has been following the story since the very beginning," she finished.

The camera paused on her for a moment before the scene switched to a man with dark hair standing in front of a large building. Bright yellow police tape covered a set of doors directly behind the young man, though he seemed oblivious to this as he had his back to it, staring straight ahead with a microphone in his hand. A grim-cover sign hung above the doors, the words _Tactical Securities Inc._ proclaiming what the building had been used for.

"Since the trial of former National Agency of Inquiry and Enforcement Director Roshi and Senators John Malone, William Engvall, and Richard Johnson, began, a lot more information has come to light that we didn't know about this scandal previously," Jimmy began. "It all started with the assassination of Senator Mao Ox-King. In what would later baffle prosecutors and local police, NAIE agents were assigned to investigate the case. Special Agent Tien Shinhan was the lead investigator from the moment the call came in, and now serves as the prosecution's star witness." The screen changed to images of of a courtroom as Jimmy continued his report.

Images of the bald Agent Shinhan showed him making his case before a committee of congressmen, each one with their own look of interest or boredom. They were the only people in the room outside of light security.

"During the trial we learned that the incident at the Carlton Gates Hotel and an explosion at a house in a residential neighborhood on the south side of OrangeStarCity that happened in the weeks following Senator Ox-King's assassination were both related to the case. Special Agent Shinhan reportedly worked with a former employee of Tactical Securities, a defense contracting giant found to be laundering federal funds in exchange for assassination contracts." The image on the screen changed to that of an elderly man in a suit being led away in handcuffs. "Once NAIE Director Jackie Roshi was implicated, the Federal Security Authority took over the investigation from the NAIE due to concerns that Roshi was not the only person in the agency on the Tactical Securities payroll."

The image changed again, back to Jimmy where he appeared to be walking along a sidewalk, one right next to the Tactical Securities building. "Facing multiple counts of conspiracy to commit murder and first-degree murder, the defense team for Roshi and the former senators has had an uphill battle during the trial. FSA investigators were able to obtain copies of several key databases from Tactical Securities, including financial records despite the recent terrorist attack on the company's headquarters. Emails and internal memos obtained from Tactical Securities' servers have implicated a large group of people in the capital. In exchange for their testimony, the FSA has granted immunity to a few people involved in order to prosecute those at the upper echelons of the conspir—"

The sound cut out as the TV went dark a moment later, the broadcast coming to an abrupt end. With a stoic gaze, a young man stared at the blank screen, though the thoughts in his head were anything but the cool facade on his face. He had been watching the unfolding of the case from the very beginning and new information regarding it was becoming few and far in between.

The room was dim, only lit by a nearby lamp. The youth sat at a wooden table in the middle of the small room. It was a motel room, so the standard bed and furniture arrangement was present. The only oddity was the pieces of a high-powered rifle that sat on the table.

With a cloth, the young man lightly rubbed the recoil spring guide, a thin cylindrical piece that helped reduce recoil. With a bottle, he liberally poured oil on to the spring, using the rag to spread the viscous liquid all over. Satisfied with his work, he picked up a coiled spring and pulled it over the piece before placing it back in the rifle.

He was a man of many names. To his family, friends, and others he was acquainted with, he was Trunks Briefs. Like many people his age, he had a vast array of nicknames, none of which he cared for, but he answered to them to maintain a normal life. However, ask what his name was to his employer and you were more likely to hear Agent Sword.

His agency was a small one when compared to Tactical Securities. If one were to make a metaphor, his group belonged in the minor leagues while Tactical Securities played with the pros. Everyone dreamed of joining that company, but it was rare they were granted the opportunity. Of course, T.S. would contact you personally if they wanted your services. Since every assassination company was paranoid with their cover, no one knew had a clue as to the figurehead companies they hid behind. Only their own employees knew. Yet every agent knew the other existed. Trunks had been working hard to be that rare occurrence and was damn sure he would've been contacted had this scandal not broken out.

And then on top of that, his father had died too. Life had given him one too many lemons, and the youth was getting very tired of drinking lemonade.

A growl echoed from his throat at that thought. This downward spiral he found himself in would not had happened had that "former employee" not betrayed everyone. What was it that NAIE agent was calling him? Doormat? No, that wasn't it. Dormant, yes, that was the name. Pfft, what a lamebrain alias. Who had come up with that one-the agent or Dormant himself?

Raising one hand, the young man brushed back lavender strands of hair from in front of his face, clearing the way for his hard blue eyes to study his gun. Tossing the rag to the table, he reached to the case next to his chair on the floor and pulled out another rag. On the table were a few other bottles, one of which was the oil. That wasn't what he wanted though, instead grabbing the polish and wetting his new rag with it. Once he was ready, he began wiping down his gun barrel, paying extra attention to the mouth. He would be damned if he let any bullet residue linger on his favorite weapon.

His polishing grew more and more aggressive the longer he did it. The very thought of Dormant boiled the blood in his veins. A scowl appeared on his handsome face. What he wouldn't give to be in a room with that man, even for as little as five minutes. Death was a mercy he did not deserve, nor would Trunks grant it, not until the man ceased to beg for it.

Stopping, Trunks took several deep breaths to calm himself. As unfortunate as it was, there was no way he would get that chance to unleash everything he wanted to do to the man, so he would have to settle for simply killing him. It would ease the rage he had felt since hearing the dreaded news of his father's demise, not to mention avenging that wrong. His father, Vegeta, deserved that much.

Admittedly, Vegeta hadn't been the best father around, but he at least cared enough to put up with the youth. The man had taught him everything he knew, what it took to be the best of the best. Unfortunately, Vegeta had gotten it into his head that Trunks had to earn his way into the upper echelon of assassins, and that had placed the young man in his current company. What he wouldn't give to achieve that invitation to T.S., to see the pride that would have shown from his father's eyes.

The eyes of Tactical Securities' best assassin, Agent Prince.

A low sound suddenly occurred, interrupting Trunks musing. Glancing to the beds, the youth saw his phone on the small table between them, its screen lit up. Standing up, Trunks walked to the bathroom and washed his hands, removing the oils and polish he had exposed them to. Grabbing a nearby towel, he began drying his hands off as he walked out of the bathroom and towards his phone. Seeing that the screen had turned off, he tossed the towel onto one of the beds and picked up the device, activating it. A moment later and he saw the text message that had been sent to him, simple ten digit number.

Perfect, it was about time too. Opening his contacts list, he scrolled to a long list of unlisted numbers. After finding the one the text had indicated, he hit the call button, putting the phone to his ear as he waited impatiently as he heard the familiar rings of his call. His contact was a rather paranoid man and took no chances when it came to his secrecy, opting to have several different numbers that he could use. Why he didn't simply call the lavender-haired youth was beyond him, but he had a supposed method to his madness. His musings came to an end instantly when he heard the ringing end abruptly.

"What do you have?" Trunks immediately asked before he was greeted. A low chuckle answered him, further annoying him.

"Not much for patience, are we?" the man replied, his voice full of humor. "You do know we're skipping vital moments of chit-chat. Experts refer to that as necessary relationship building and you wouldn't want to disappoint them, would you?"

A scowl was making quite an effort to become permanent on Trunks' face. "I just want the info you promised, got it? You said you could get it for me and that's what I fully expect."

"And I have," the man brightly claimed. "So the least you could do is act with a little civility. Acting macho was so last decade in case you didn't know. Now, if you were a badass, then the act would totally fly. It's a shame that Prince hadn't gotten around to teaching you that."

Trunks closed his eyes as he fought off the wave of anger the flooded his being. Though necessary to his current venture, he hated this man to an untold of degree. Admittedly he was a second to Dormant, but it was a close second. This guy had proven he was very good at gathering information, proving that by telling Trunks everything about him. Unfortunately, the lavender-haired youth hadn't been able to do the same, only knowing him by a simple number, 17. It was nearly infuriating, especially since 17 had approached him shortly after his father's funeral, right in front of his sister. His sister...

"Could you please tell me what you found out?" he finally gritted out.

"Now, was that all that hard to say?" 17 mocked. Then the man's voice turned serious. "He's been spotted in BlueStarCity. There's a few diners and a grocery store he frequents near one of the suburbs."

"Blue Star," Trunks murmured softly. "Anything else?"

"He's very paranoid from what I've been told. Doesn't take the same way home and has the ability to shake off tails. Your best bet is to not try following him. If he even gets a whiff of you, he could disappear again and we'll have to start all over again."

The young man gulped at that. That was the last thing he wanted, not when he was so close. "I'll take care of it," he said after a long pause.

"You better. Believe me, if I have to go looking for him again, you're not going to like the price you'll have to pay, understand? I'm being generous already by doing this for free."

Trunks paused once more as he pushed down the dread that filled him. "Yes, I understand."

"Excellent. Contact me when you're finished, will ya? Use the last number in that list I gave ya. Ta ta for now."

The phone clicked as the call ended, causing Trunks to shut off his phone and pocket it. Turning around, he made his way back to the table and began reassembling his rifle. He fully relished the anticipation he felt in as he completed the assembly and placed the weapon in its case.

It was time to go hunting.


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is brought to you by ShadowMajin**

BlueStarCity was boring, no two ways about it. Perhaps for all the simple people it held something of significance, but for Trunks there was only one thing he sought. That thing, that person was somewhere in the jungle of concrete and steel according to his source. His only desire was to find him, kill him, and get out of this place.

Of course, finding Dormant wasn't going to be easy. He had already been at two of the places the traitor had been reported to frequent and had yet to spot him. Two days worth of surveillance flushed down the drain; it was time for a new locale.

Sitting in his parked car, Trunks stared out the windshield at the residential buildings lining the street. Houses of different designs and landscaping blurred into two long strips of irrelevancy to him. Lord this place was boring. He'd only been here for a couple hours and already he felt as if he should move on from this place. There was no way Dormant was here. Why would someone want to live in such a mundane place?

Unless...unless that's what he _wanted_ people to think. Of course! This was all camouflage to throw people off his scent! And damn it, it was working. Trunks shook his head angrily; he hadn't even seen Dormant and already his tricks were getting to him. It had to be how he had gotten the upper-hand on his father, there was no one better at what he did than Vegeta; the only way he would have lost is by trickery. It seemed Trunks was on the tail of a master of the art.

Gripping the steering wheel until his knuckle became white, the purple-haired youth refocused himself. There had to be something here that indicated Dormant was here. The setup was perfect, but in this shadow world there was no such thing as perfect. A flaw always existed and the best could always pick it out.

Slowly, Trunks studied each and every house, his eyes lingering on one before flickering over to the next. Painted wooden doors, glass windows with burglar bars attached over them, potted plants; nothing stood out there. A few of the yards had children's toys and playsets scattered about. As far as he knew, Dormant didn't have a family, or at the very least children, so those houses were crossed off his list of potentials.

And as luck would have it, the door of one of the houses opened, one that didn't have the chaotic mess of toys in the yard. A tall, young man walked to the sidewalk and up to a parked car, using his car clicker to unlock the vehicle from the distance.

Trunks shifted in his seat as he stared at the person. The spiky dark hair had gotten his attention. The height and build matched the description 17 had given him. This...this had to be him.

Watching as his target climbed into his car, started it, and then drove away, Trunks eagerly started his own car and just nearly began following him when his senses took hold. No, his father had taught him better than that. If he tailed Dormant too closely, he ran the risk of alerting the man to his presence—a rookie mistake.

Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath and released it slowly. _Calm down, there's plenty of time. You know where he lives now; losing him will not be the end of this._ Opening his eyes, he noticed the car hitting the breaks as it came to a stop sign at the end of the street. Shifting the gear of his own car, he did his best to casual drive up behind his target, being sure to keep his distance.

As it turned out, Dormant didn't make too many turns on this trip. For the most part he kept on a straight course, which pleased Trunks greatly. He could keep his distance from the guy and not rouse suspicion. Just as long as he kept to his lane and didn't switch every time his target did. Only when he was sure the target was making a turn would he make an effort to follow—that had been his father's rule.

And it was because of that rule he was able to follow Dormant until he made a stop at a building, pulling into a nearby parking lot. Choosing to pass on by, Trunks looked for a sign that indicated what that building was, quickly finding it to be a government building. It wasn't anything major though, just a center for utility bill payments. Driving onto the next turnoff, which turned out to be a parking lot for a small shopping center, Trunks parked the car and shut it down.

Climbing out of the car, the purple-haired youth jogged back to the utility building, stopping behind the corner of the building before peeking around it. He quickly found the car he had been following, though Dormant didn't seem to be anywhere in sight. He really didn't like that. Still, there wasn't anything he could do about it for now.

Glancing around, he then casually walked towards Dormant's car. He kept looking from side to side, making sure the man wasn't anywhere in sight. He didn't want to be spotted, not this early in the operation. Reaching the car, he peered through the windows.

He had to admit, Dormant was very clean. Aside from some dirt on the floor mats, there wasn't really anything in the car. No trash, or clothes, nothing to say that this was a person's personal vehicle. It was too neat...

However, his initial look proved to be wrong. On the front passenger's seat was a piece of paper with writing on it. Opting to get a better look, Trunks moved around the car, looking at his surroundings as he did so in order to assure himself that he was still alone. Reaching the other side, he looked through the window and smiled to himself.

The handwriting on the paper was neat, making it very easy to read. _Rice, juice, garbage bags, melons, bananas._ It was a grocery list. Leaving the car, Trunks casually walked around the building and made his way towards his own vehicle. He knew exactly where his target was going now. Thanks to 17, he knew that Dormant only went to one grocery store in the area.

The grocery store was part of a long building with a rather large parking lot. Various, smaller stores shared the building, but many of the visitors were there for their grocery runs. That gave Trunks a wide area without cover.

Good thing he wasn't setting up camp there.

Across the street were a few taller buildings, each one a mandatory three floors so as to stay uniformed with each other. On the roof of one of those buildings sat Trunks, crouching behind a brick formation that formed a solid railing. A scope was in the lavender-haired youth's hand, which held it up to his eye so he could scan the parking lot. As of yet, his target had yet to arrive.

Which was alright, there were still a few things to prepare. Setting the scope down on the bricks, Trunks turned his attention to an open black case resting next to him. In it, dark padding filled the inside of the case with pieces of his weapon held secure in it. Reaching to it, the young man pulled out the body of his rifle and set the rifle butt down on his leg. Extending his arm again, he pulled a long barrel and brought it to him, setting it on top of the body and screwing it in.

When that task was done, he grabbed his scope once more and attached it to its place on the rifle, hearing an audible click as it latched on. Attention returning to the case, he then pulled out a short magazine and held it up to his face. Inside he could see long bullets placed on top of each other, one on top of the other. He knew from experience what these projectiles did to human flesh; how the spray of blood from ruptured arteries spot out of the body. Lowering it, he then shoved it into the rifle, completing his preparations.

Glancing back towards the grocery store, taking in the large, sectioned window that covered the entire store front, the youth made a cursory search of the area to make sure Dormant hadn't shown up. Seeing that he hadn't, he began analyzing the rest of the shopping center.

One of the first things he had done after arriving on this rooftop was to search for any outdoor security cameras. He wanted to make sure he didn't leave any evidence that he had been here so having a camera even looking in his direction was an obstacle. From what he had seen, the only cameras pointed away from the store were aimed right at the parking lot, cutting off any possible chance of footage being recorded of the buildings across the street.

The next thing he checked on was store security, which turned out to be an unnecessary worry. The shopping center was so low key, there weren't any uniformed men roaming the parking lot. Sure, there were a couple men in the grocery store—that large window helped him spot them standing near the exits—and most likely one for every couple of the smaller stores, but their first job was to seal off the area and try to locate the threat, not go after it. He'd have plenty of time to disassemble his rifle, pack it up, and leave the area before the police showed up.

He already had an escape route set up. On the opposite side of the building was a fire escape, which dropped down to an alleyway. Trunks had his car parked there, just waiting for him to jump in and drive off. There was nothing left to chance here.

A car drove into the parking lot then, capturing the young man's attention. Looking at the vehicle, he immediately looked away. It wasn't the car he was waiting for, so no need to spend further time on it.

Resuming his watch, he kept his eye on every car that approached the parking lot entrance. It was easier than watching every single car that drove up and down this road; all he had to do was keep an eye on the furthest lane with an occasional glance to any car trying to cross over. Trunks still kept his rifle out of sight—no need to give his position away by a straight ray of light hitting it just right.

This was all a game of patience, something the youth had to learn at a very early point in his career. On one of his first jobs the target had taken an entire day to arrive, something he hadn't accounted for and had ended up spending the better part of two nights holed up in his sniping position so that he wouldn't miss the guy. The intel had been bad and he hadn't bothered checking it out beforehand—a mistake he didn't repeat, though he still had targets that took their time in arriving. His father had been exceptional at it despite having a rather short fuse with everything else; it would seem he had different priorities than most people when it came to his waiting.

Another car was pulling up to the entrance and with a glance, Trunks knew this was his car. Crushing his eagerness, he waited for his target to park his car and walk towards the store. When the man reached the doors, Trunks hefted up his sniper rifle and rested it down on the mortar barrier in front of him. Holding the weapon with familiarity, he made himself comfortable as he looked into the scope.

It took him a second to adjust to the new vision, but that was to be expected. With one hand, he began slowly twisting a knob, hearing an audible click with every adjustment that was made. Soon he was focused on the glass front of the store.

Carefully, he shifted the gun to the right, searching for his target and finding him quickly. Unfortunately, the guy made a turn into one of the aisles, one that he didn't have a good angle on. No matter, that wasn't something to get annoyed with. The check-out counters were near the front and Dormant would have to go to them eventually. It was a waiting game now and Trunks wanted the perfect moment before he made his shot. The prick deserved nothing less.

It took nearly a minute, but eventually Dormant appeared in his sights. Tracking him, Trunks watched as the dark-haired man made his way to the fruit section, pausing to examine the bananas. Since the fruits were near the check-out stations, this was a good thing. Unfortunately, one of the crossbeams that framed the glass was in the way. The shot had to be held once more.

Dormant moved again, but this time he didn't go too far, instead heading right to a nearby stand of melons. Picking up two, the man began comparing them.

This was it; this was the shot Trunks had been waiting for. Calming his breathing until he barely felt his chest rise and fall, the lavender-haired youth meticulously zeroed in on the perfect shot. The head was an optimal choice, but there was another crossbeam threatening to ruin the hit. He had to go lower. The next place he aimed was the chest, specifically the heart. There, he had it in his sights. Dormant wasn't any the wiser, placing one of the melons in his hands down and picking up another. It was almost too good to be true.

All it would take now was a squeeze of the trigger and this bastard would be dead—just like his father. It seemed surreal that all it took to kill a man was the flexing and relaxing of a few muscles—in fact, one could say that was an insult considering that the man in question had poured sweat and blood into his work. The very thought brought a smile to Trunks' face.

He pulled the trigger.

Trunks barely felt the recoil hit him as the rifle's hammer hit the primer of the bullet, igniting the gunpowder and causing it to combust. Although small, the explosion caused the thin, armor piercing round to fly down the long barrel and out of the rifle, screaming through the air, penetrating through a thin layer of glass with barely any alteration in bullet's course. It wasn't until the nose of the bullet touched flesh and ripped through it cleanly that it began to encounter any sort of resistance. Tissue, muscle, and bone didn't stand a chance until the bullet exited out the opposite side of the target.

All of this happened within a second.

The roar of the firing filled Trunks' ears as he felt himself move back slightly from the recoil. The window the bullet hit shattered into thousands of pieces, jagged shards hanging cracked by the crossbar frame. More importantly, Dormant instantly fell down with a spray of blood flying out of his chest. The force of the shot jerked him back as he fell, disappearing below the melon stand, effectively out of sight.

In all his assignments, Trunks had to say he hadn't seen such a perfect example of a dead man falling. It was damn near textbook. He took a moment to admire this.

In the back of his head, a voice sounding much like Vegeta's barked out, _"Quit gawking and get out of there!_" Chastised by his own thoughts, Trunks twisted around and hide behind the mortar barrier, quickly disassembling his rifle into parts and setting them in their proper placement inside the case. With that done, he slammed it shut and clicked the clasps down.

With a quick glance around, he noticed the dulled remains of the bullet casing. Snatching it up, Trunks shoved it into his pocket and grabbed the handle of his case, shoving himself onto his feet and transversing the rooftop until he reached the fire escape. As planned, he began the long, tedious descent down the metal structure, feet pounding on the groaning iron and steel. Once he reached a landing, he spun to his right and around the staircase, heading for the next one mere steps away. The youth was rushing himself to get to the bottom, but not so much that he made a mistake. The last thing he needed was to trip and pitch himself over the edge of the fire escape. Imagine how that would look: sniper found with broken neck two blocks away from murder.

Reaching the bottom, Trunks hurried to his nearby car, sticking his free hand into his pocket. There he found his car keys, specifically grabbing ahold of his clicker. With the push of a button, the truck door popped open, allowing him to shove it up, toss in his rifle case, and slam it shut in seconds.

Pulling his keys out of his pocket, he hit the unlock button as he walked around the car to the driver's door. Opening it, he climbed in and slammed the door behind him. A second passed as Trunks shoved the starter key into the ignition and twisted it, revving the engine to life. Grabbing the gear shift, he shifted it into drive and pressed his foot on the accelerator.

He avoided speeding, even if he was in an alley. A sure way to draw attention to himself was to go peeling off and rush out into traffic. It was best to appear casual, as if nothing was wrong at all.

Because when it was all said and done, nothing was.

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**Author's Notes: For those who are interested, we are a group of collaborative writers who combine our efforts to bring you stories such as this one. We're an open group, meaning that anyone can apply to join. Feel free to check out our forums, and perhaps apply to join the group, via the link on our profile. It's a great opportunity for those who would like to better their own writing skills and exchange skills of the trade with fellow authors, or to simply be more apart of a writing community.**

**Hope you enjoyed.**


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter is brought to you by ShadowMajin**

The more things changed, the more they stayed exactly the same. The National Agency of Inquiry and Enforcement was abuzz with activity, much like it usually was; even the director falling under indictment hadn't changed that. Investigations simply weren't forgotten just because there wasn't someone in charge.

Still, there were some very big changes as of late. For Tien, he now had an office rather than a simple desk on the floor. He had much prefered the floor, where most of the action was, instead of being regulated to a closed off room. Unfortunately, this was necessary.

Four months had flown by since he had broken the Ox-King Assassination case wide open, revealing the corruption that infected the head of the agency and certain government seats. Ever since then, he had received hard looks from his fellow agents, none of which were remotely friendly. It was as if Tien had been ostracized by men he had considered friends and peers; but then it was most likely they were afraid that their names were also in the records he had obtained at Tactical Securities.

Tien wouldn't reveal the truth of that unless he found it absolutely necessary.

It was because of the scandal that he was now partner-less. Whenever he had lost a partner in the past, he usually ended up with a new one by the end of the week. That was just agency policy. However, the interim director had felt it was in the best interest of Tien and the other agents if he wasn't paired up with another one; frankly, he agreed with it. There was no way he would be able to work with any of the veterans, who would be watching his every move with unrestrained suspicion, and he wasn't a man known for handling rookies too well. Perhaps he needed to consider retirement a little more seriously.

Slouching at his desk, nearly hidden by stacks of large case folders, the bald officer stared enviously at the busy agents, over the piles of case briefs and paperwork and through his window. They looked so engrossed with their work, moving from their own desks to somewhere else in the room at times, to being rooted in their chairs as they hammered away at the phones. It was an environment Tien had lived through for so many years that the slightest change was upsetting. What he wouldn't give to be back out there...

At least he was still allowed in the field, even if he hadn't been at a crime scene for far longer than he'd liked. The T.S. Scandal was slowly creeping through the various hearings and courts that it sometimes felt like it would never end. The bald agent wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Roshi passed away from old age before a verdict came down.

And despite how things had gone, he wouldn't have changed a thing. Bad things were being done by bad people and it had to be stopped. Even if the following appeals, which would most assuredly come, threatened to prolong an already tiring process—even overturn a hard-earned guilty verdict—it still kept out a few of the men responsible for the carnage that followed Senator Ox-King's death.

With a sigh that was becoming all too frequent in his life, Tien checked the calendar that hung from the wall, spotting quite a few days that were circled in red. Those were his next court appearances and he was ready for them. The prosecutors were prepared for battle and he was their best weapon. Of course, the defense wanted to get a piece of him and discredit his findings, but that was just how trials went down.

Switching his attention from the calendar, he looked at one of the many case files on his desk. It wasn't that he had several cases he had to work on as much as he had to review them and issue further instructions to the agents in the field. It was a boring job, but it had to be done.

Before he could reach out and begin analyzing one of the cases, his cell phone went off. Frowning, the bald man reached for the small device lying at a nearby corner of his desk and picked up, answering it as he brought it to his ear. "This is Agent Shinhan."

A second later his eyes widened as he shot out of his seat, knocking his chair over. "What happened?" he demanded as he stared straight to the window ahead. "A shooting at a grocery store? One victim? And the shooter?" A growl worked its way through the man's throat. Of course they wouldn't have a shooter in custody; it would have been too easy. Just great, this was just what he needed right now.

"I'll be there," he said into the phone, but was stopped from hanging up when the caller asked him a question. "No, I'm not sending a hundred agents, I'm handling this myself." With that said, he ended the call and stuffed the phone into his pocket. Looking behind him, he saw his chair lying awkwardly on the floor, his suit coat partially trapped beneath it. Moving next to the piece of furniture, he lifted it up enough to yank the garment out and dropped the chair back onto the floor. With purpose in his stride for the first time in quite awhile, Tien marched out of his office, much to the surprise of the other agents in the room.

"Mr. Shinhan?" a soft voice called out, obviously taken back by his sudden emergence. Sparing a glance, he caught sight of a young woman with short blonde hair—his appointed secretary and the only person that interacted with him, nowadays.

"Now not," he barked at her, causing the girl to flinch. Tien ignored the twinge of regret he felt from her reaction, but right now he had other things to worry about. There wasn't anyone here that would be of help to him; not on this. Reaching the elevators, he punched the down button and waited impatiently for the metal doors to slide open.

He hadn't thought something like this would happen. After everything they had been through, all the bloodshed and death, it couldn't end this way for them. Both of them had lost too many people to this murderous plot, surviving deadly assassins at every turn—that is, until now.

A ding announced the arrival of the elevator, the doors sliding smoothly apart. Walking in, Tien immediately hit the the "1" button and once more found himself waiting as the doors slid shut and the elevator began its descent. Glaring at the distorted reflection of himself on the metal surface of the doors, the agent couldn't help but think, _What's going on now, Gohan?_

* * *

Believe it or not, motels could get worse. Yes, they were usually rooms with the bare essentials and questionable taste in decor, but there were some places that made their brethren look like a first-class hotel. Trunks had just entered such a room and grimaced at what he saw.

There was less space in this room, only enough for a bed, a dresser, and a small table. There was no TV and the bathroom door was so close to the front door that you couldn't have both of them open at the same time. He had to keep telling himself it was only for this one night.

The young man wished that he could've returned to his previous motel, but unfortunately he had ended his stay there. That was a conscious choice though; it was always best to move around, to throw off any possible scent he may have left behind after his job. Suffering through dwellings such as this was a small price to pay for his most recent kill.

That thought brought a small smile to his face. It was over. His father could rest in peace now that his murderer was dead. The anger that had been consuming the lavender-haired youth was slowly disappearing, leaving him feeling refreshed; the burden on his shoulders had been lifted.

Well, _almost_ lifted.

There was still the matter of tying off things with 17. It was time to wash his hands of that little alliance—the sooner the better. Closing the door behind him, Trunks walked inside and set down his rifle case on the floor at the foot of the bed. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and took a seat on the mattress. Accessing his contact list, he scrolled all the way down to the last number and hit the call button. Lifting the phone to his ear, he waited patiently as he heard the dial tone.

On the second ring, his call was answered. "Tell me the good news," 17 greeted him cheerily.

"It's done," Trunks answered, keeping his tone calm. No need to let this guy know how thrilled he was.

"Excellent. We make quite the team, don't we?" the man congratulated him. "I find out the target, you take 'em down. Easy as 1, 2, 3."

"Yes," Trunks agreed simply. He still recalled their last conversation and didn't want to risk upsetting the guy—not when he was so close to being rid of him. "I believe that finishes our arrangement."

"Does it?" The tone was questioning, something Trunks didn't like. "You sure? Cuz I was thinking about putting you on another job. See, I've got it on good authority—"

"That wasn't our agreement!" Trunks exploded, rising off the bed as his face became enraged. "You said that if I killed Dormant, you would—"

"I know what I said," 17 cooly interrupted. "And you're in no position to be dictating terms. Now where was I? Oh, right. I have this job that you would be perfect for, ya know, since you performed so admirably this morning. So, what do ya think?"

_No chance in hell_. The young man scowled at the wall he was facing. He should have known something like this would happen. "What if I say 'no'?" he chanced.

"Then you can go about your life as if nothing happened—just you. Trust me, you wouldn't like the way that turns out, _Friend._"

He was baring his teeth, now. This bastard had him in a tight spot and he knew it. Damn it all! "And this will be it, right? No more new jobs?"

"That's right, no more new jobs."

"How can I believe that? You're already changing our original deal."

There was silence on the phone for a moment, long enough for Trunks to wonder if the guy had hung up. That was when laughter rang out of the phone's speaker. "You've got a point, you don't. But then, you don't have much choice in the matter." 17 continued to laugh as Trunks grinded his teeth together.

"I'll tell you what, though," the man said as he slowly began calming down his laughter. "I promise, on my sister's grave, this will be the absolute last job I give you. You complete it, you walk away, no worries or cares. Everything I promised you in the last deal will still happen provided you survive. So, deal?"

What choice did he have? "Fine, deal. So what's the job?"

Trunks could feel the smirk coming through the speaker, then. "As you're fully aware, Dormant wasn't alone when he attacked Tactical Securities. He had help in the form of Special Agent Tien Shinhan. He's the target."

The lavender-haired youth narrowed his eyes as he slowly sat back down on the bed. He could see where this was going. 17 wanted to knock off the two guys that had exposed the assassin world. The man must've had some involvement in that shadowy realm, too, which explained his interest in Dormant. That man stood as a threat to every assassin agency that existed and if any of them had the chance to take him out, they would. So what was 17's involvement in all of this? Was he an investor? A middleman to the boss of one of the other agencies? An assassin?

Unfortunately, he would have to play ball if he wanted to get to the bottom of that. "What do you have on him?"

"I have a source that said he's on his way to your little shooting scene. He's taking point on the investigation, so it shouldn't take too much time to find him."

"I'll find him," Trunks promised.

He received a chuckle in response. "I know you will. Oh, before I forget, I want you to make this quick. Don't dilly-dally. I'm not paying you to take your time."

Trunks grimaced at those words. "You're not paying me," he gritted out.

"I'm not? Huh. Still, don't take too long. Gotta strike while the iron's hot!"

There was a click as 17 hung up, which left Trunks scowling as he held the phone in his face. The urge to throw the device at the wall was powerful, but he resisted it—these things cost money, after all. His anger was crying out for a release, one that he couldn't let out due to his present circumstance. Destroying a hotel room was a foolish reason for attracting unwanted attention.

So, he placed the phone on the mattress next to him before swinging his legs up so he could lie down on the bed. Resting his hands beneath his head as he stared up at the ceiling, Trunks began mentally running through various tranquility techniques that had been forced down his throat over the years. He had a short temper, something his father had placed all the blame on his mother, whoever she was. The young man's childhood was loaded with instances where he had lashed out in rage, leading to many reprimands and expulsion from various schools. Vegeta hadn't seemed troubled by his outbursts, merely registering the lavender-haired youth in the next of a string of private—and later public—institutions. It wasn't until he joined his meager agency that his boss had forced him through anger management. He had said that if Trunks wanted to be a halfway decent assassin, he had to get control of his anger or he would be killed on the spot.

That had been _very_ motivating.

And now that he was being forced into another job, he would need to be as collected as possible. He was going back to his crime scene where there would be too many people on the lookout for suspicious behavior. A young man cursing as he stared at a federal agent would be a prime example of such behavior.

Trunks was a professional, had been trained to be one, and he would not do anything to jeopardize that image. He would lose track of time before he managed to reign in his chaotic emotions, but once he was in firm control, he would get off that bed and walk out of this room. _That_ was his primary goal.

* * *

**Author's Notes: For those who are interested, we are a group of collaborative writers who combine our efforts to bring you stories such as this one. We're an open group, meaning that anyone can apply to join. Feel free to check out our forums, and perhaps apply to join the group, via the link on our profile. It's a great opportunity for those who would like to better their own writing skills and exchange skills of the trade with fellow authors, or to simply be more apart of a writing community.**

**Hope you enjoyed.**


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter is brought to you by ShadowMajin**

...

Tien stood between two fruit stands, staring down at the bloodied floor. There were police officers and forensic techs all over the building, performing their various tasks as was expected of them at a crime scene. Most of the officers were interviewing people, not just inside the grocery store, but outside it too. A look through the large window revealed a parking lot sparsely populated with cars, but held plenty of people. Officers could be seen all the way to the other side of the street, particularly on the roof of one building.

The forensic team had finished with their job here, collecting samples and even leaving a taped outline of where the victim had been lying. They had been fortunate enough to find the remains of the bullet and were currently transporting it to a lab for further analysis.

There wasn't much Tien could do here that wasn't already being done. Law enforcement was going through protocol efficiently enough that it didn't require the services of a federal agent. Still, none of these men had that much experience involving an assassination; there might have been things that they had missed.

Glancing from the white outline to the puddle of blood on the floor and then the droplets that covered a nearby stand, Tien soaked in the scene. Turning his head from his left to his right, he took note of the melon stand, along with two melons lying on the floor and a small red basket with various groceries in them. Finally, the bald agent looked to the sectioned window and focused on one particular section with yellow police tape surrounding it. In the glass panel was a hole with cracks extending from it.

Slowly, Tien walked to the melon stand and stood facing it, holding his hands out in front of him. He kept his eye on the window and mentally judged the trajectory of the bullet. He took a half step backwards and then said softly, "Gohan stood here, doing his shopping. The bullet hit the glass there and then hit him…"

At this the agent paused, a frown covering his face. He stood that way for several moments before he continued, "Then hit him, the force of the shot knocking him backwards and onto the floor." Turning around, he stared right at the outline before shifting his focus further up. It was then he saw where the bullet had impacted the tile floor.

Looking between the window and the impaction site, Tien observed there had been very little ricochet caused by the window. The bullet had cleanly pierced the glass with little deviation in flight and hit Gohan. Considering the cops on the rooftop of one of the buildings, it was fair to assume that a high-powered rifle had been used. The ballistics on the obtained bullet remains would narrow down what kind of rifle, though there would still be quite a few to go through.

Still, he needed to get on that rooftop. Leaving the scene, he wormed his way through busy police officers and bewildered store employees. Once he was outside the grocery store, he kept walking through the parking lot until he reached the street. Since traffic was being diverted, there wasn't a single car driving up or down the road. Not bothering to look either way as per road-crossing safety guidelines, Tien strode towards the building on the other side, finally looking left or right once he reached the sidewalk. Towards his right was a door held wide open and guarded by a police officer. Moving towards the guard, the agent offered a brief nod of his head as acknowledgement before entering the building. For once, it was nice being renowned as the guard didn't move to stop him, merely returning the nod with one of his own.

The lighting inside of the building was dim, though the agent didn't care much about it. Instead he quickly located the nearest staircase and climbed all the way up to the roof access at the top. Because there was an investigation going on, the door to the roof was wide open, which let Tien walk through it without breaking stride.

The first thing he saw were a handful of cops scouring the roof, searching for anything out of the ordinary. There were two forensic techs towards the edge of the building, their kits lying open nearby as they examined a particular spot. With a glance, Tien saw the grocery store across the street and theorized that the techs were examining where they thought the shooter had been. With crunching of gravel beneath his feet, he walked over to the two men and watched as they worked.

Coming to a stop, Tien gazed towards the store across the street. Already he could imagine himself kneeling behind the mortar railing, gun resting the stone surface and waiting for the target to appear in his scope. Yeah, the locals were right about where the shooter had been; the only way he could have made sure was to have a scope of his own.

Looking down to the ground, the agent noticed it was abnormally clean. No sight of discarded equipment or bullet casings—assuming forensics hadn't already collected any. Shifting his attention away, he began walking further down the building until he reached its corner, finding it connected to its neighbor. Turning to his right, he continued following his building's edge until he reached the next corner, this time seeing an alleyway beyond its edge.

If he had been setting up this kill, he would have definitely parked his getaway vehicle somewhere here. Eyes narrowing, he considered that thought.

"Are you the NAIE agent?" a voice suddenly called out.

Turning his head, Tien found a balding, middle-aged man approaching him, his police uniform in in disarray as if he had put in on in the dark. "I am."

"I was told you were here," the man grunted as he came to a stop next to the bald agent. "What's your take on all this?"

"Similar to yours I would imagine," Tien answered dryly. "Shooter posted himself on this building and shot the vic with a high-powered sniper rifle. The shooter did a good clean-up job, assuming your techs haven't already collected anything."

"It was clean when we got here," the officer said disgruntledly. Seemed he didn't like that finding at all. "The labrats haven't been able to find so much as a hair follicle."

"Which leaves how he left the scene," the bald agent added. "Depending on the interviews of the building go, the shooter either left through the building, or he made his way to this alleyway. This alley is blocked off from sight aside from its entrances. I suggest we try to find a surveillance camera that was aimed at either entrance."

"Not a bad idea," the man remarked. "But considering this neighborhood, I don't think we'll get that lucky."

"Still we try," Tien replied easily. "I'll be around, so it shouldn't be too hard for you or one of your men to find me."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll keep you posted."

Nodding his head in acceptance, Tien moved around the officer and made his way towards the roof access door. Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number and held the device to his ear. It took four rings before he heard the person on the other end pick up. "It's me," he immediately said. "I'm at the scene."

* * *

Tien Shinhan emerged from the building, phone held to the side of his head as he walked towards the grocery store.

Sitting behind the wheel of his car, Trunks watched him from a block down, his blue eyes never leaving the bald man. This was the guy that was the biggest threat to his way of life along with every assassin out in the world. With Dormant out of the picture, the famed NAIE agent had leapt to the number one spot in an instant if 17's actions were a good indication. Though he had no beef with the man, Trunks could still see why Shinhan had to go down. He just wished it was someone else doing the job.

Gripping the wheel tighter with his hands, more out of reflex than anything else, he loosened his grip as he anxiously waited for the agent to find his car and leave the area. Every instinct within the lavender-haired youth was screaming for him to be anywhere but his own crime scene. He had made it a point to never go back to one and having to track a target at such a place made him antsy. How long was this guy gonna take?

Moving a hand down, he reached to his keys already in the ignition and turned them, hearing the familiar sound of the engine revving to life. He'd give it another minute before he got out of here; there were other, better ways to track a person and definitely less stressful.

Thankfully, he saw Shinhan's car moving through the parking lot shortly after, heading for an entrance with his right turn signal on. _Perfect._ Since he was in a parallel parking, the young assassin's car was facing in the direction his target was going. Looking over his shoulder for any oncoming cars, Trunks pulled out of his parking spot and into traffic. Keeping an eye on his rearview mirrors, he kept track of where Shinhan's car was as it also pulled onto the street, following him as they drove.

Driving a little slower, Trunks waited for the NAIE agent's car to catch up and eventually pass him in the next lane. Once Shinhan was in front of him, Trunks changed lanes to be right behind the bald man, maintaining his slow speed. It'd be a bit too odd for him to suddenly speed up considering he had just been passed. Seeing a traffic signal a couple blocks down shifting from green to yellow, he had utmost confidence it would be red before the agent could cross and they'd be stopped right next to each other.

And just as he expected, they were right behind each other at the light. Trunks stared at the car's back window, taking note of the dark silhouette of his target. He felt calm, collected even, not at all like he felt when he had been stalking Dormant. It was refreshing to be back on a normal job.

The light turned and they were moving once more. This time the young man kept close to Shinhan's car, just like the other cars that surrounded them. It was always best to blend in with one's surroundings—that was how one always tracked prey, much like a cat stalking a mouse. All senses were trained to keeping a low profile to not attract attention until the last possible second. However, Trunks wouldn't be striking just yet. He needed to find a more desirable location for that. This was just for research.

Whereas he knew Dormant's habits thanks to 17, the young man next to nothing about Agent Shinhan other than he was a highly-experienced NAIE agent. All that told him was the guy was more sensitive to his surroundings, so extra precaution had to go into tailing him. He had to learn how this man thought and acted before he could strike him down.

Suddenly, Shinhan's blinker came on, followed shortly by the man changing into the right lane. Trunks just maintained his speed, keeping an eye on the car. It was then that the agent slowed down before pulling into a parking lot, one right next to a hotel. A quick glance gave him the hotel's name and Trunks continued on. A block down he went through the motions of pulling off the street and into a parking lot for some store, one he didn't bother to find out much more about. It wasn't important.

However, finding out which room Shinhan was staying in was more interesting to him. He'd be keeping an eye on the agent, just waiting for his chance to take him out. Of course, he couldn't take too long should 17 get impatient. So far that man hadn't shown the least bit hurried by anything, but he did have a tendency to change his mind. No way did Trunks want to get pulled into a third job.

But with that said, he would still do this job professionally. His profession and training demanded it. The perfect opportunity would present itself eventually.

And he would be ready.

**...**

**For those who are interested, we are a group of collaborative writers who combine our efforts to bring you stories such as this one. We're an open group, meaning that anyone can apply to join. Feel free to check out our forums, and perhaps apply to join the group, via the link on our profile. It's a great opportunity for those who would like to better their own writing skills and exchange skills of the trade with fellow authors, or to simply be more apart of a writing community.**


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